


vivaldi

by everchanginginks



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Future Fic, Getting Together, M/M, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-19 12:44:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17001909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everchanginginks/pseuds/everchanginginks
Summary: Stiles returns to Beacon Hills after four years with the FBI and Derek is reminded of what it feels to want.





	1. Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, theydraggedmein! <3 I hope you enjoy this little fluffy piece that I wrote for you. I didn't manage to tick all the boxes on your wishlist, but some of them at least.
> 
> I wish you an amazing holiday with lots of love and warmth!

Stiles returns to Beacon Hills a mild afternoon in April, with absolutely zero warning. Derek only finds out when he hears the unmistakable, clunky noise of the Jeep’s engine making its way up the driveway. The Jeep has been safely tucked away in the Stilinskis’ garage during the four years Stiles has been with the FBI, but Derek would recognize it anywhere.

He steps out on the porch right when the Jeep turns around the bend and becomes visible through the thick branches, just when Stiles’ slightly elevated heartbeat becomes audible. Derek is pretty sure that he would recognize that anywhere as well.

The car slides to a stop, the driver’s side door is kicked open and Stiles spills out of it, arms raised.

“Surprise!” He exclaims, loud and cheerful in a stark contrast to the otherwise serene and quiet woods bracketing the rebuilt Hale house.

Derek’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead, arms crossed over his chest. Undeterred, Stiles slams the door to the Jeep shut and bounds up the steps.

“I can’t believe you finished it, it looks great!” He says, eyes flickering over the white panels and sturdy wooden beams. “The pics don’t really do it justice.”

He’s older. No longer a teenager. His eyes aren’t as tired as before, like when he left. Derek recognizes the journey he made himself when leaving Beacon Hills in the joyous twist of Stiles’ lips. He’s been healing.

Stiles is grinning when he slaps a hand down on Derek’s shoulder and then promptly invites himself inside. Derek is momentarily frozen in place, unaccustomed to Stiles’ whirlwind energy after so much time spent apart. Stiles, however, does not pause. By the time Derek gets moving, Stiles is already collapsed on the couch, reverently stroking the fabric of the decorative velvet pillows while waxing poetic of their plushyness.

Derek clears his throat and there’s a lot he’d like to say, a lot he’d like to ask, but only one thing that comes out.

“How long are you staying?”

Stiles looks up and his features softens knowingly.

“Forever, dude. I’m here for good.”

Derek’s heart swells.


	2. Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're concerned about the _mild gore_ tag, read the end notes!

If anyone had told Derek that he would meet his untimely demise by a leprechaun attack, he would’ve snorted in disbelieving derision. Witches? Sure, seems legit. Pixies? They do have very sharp teeth, so he wouldn’t rule them out. Leprechauns? Not a chance. Just  _ no.  _ Which is why he’s equal parts baffled and frustrated while he’s being dragged across the forest floor by no less than five, knee-high leprechauns, bleeding profusely from a head injury after they had tossed that big rock at his face.

He would get up, has tried to many times, but as soon as he lifts his head off the ground his vision swims and his stomach twists into nauseous knots. Their small, grubby hands are clasped tight enough around his arms and legs that he can feel the skin bruise and try to heal itself over and over again. He’s not sure why his head isn’t attempting to do the same. Or maybe it is, but the wound is too severe. He might never find out, considering how the leprechauns are currently chattering about how best to cook him.

Derek supposes that this will be his legacy. The wolf eaten by leprechauns. Just his luck.

There are drums in the distance. He had not heard them earlier, due to the pounding in his head, but there’s definitely drums and they’re drawing nearer, judging by how the sound gets louder and louder by the minute.

Derek closes his eyes, shuts out the tree tops gently swaying up above and tries to ignore how twigs and dirt prick at his skin while he gets dragged over the ground. He’s feeling cold, despite it being one of the hottest days this year.

He thinks of Cora. He thinks of Isaac, of Scott, of Liam and Mason. He thinks of Chris Argent of all people. Mrs McCall and the Sheriff. Lydia. Malia.

Most of all he thinks of Stiles. Of Stiles and his pitter patter heartbeat and of what he wouldn’t do to hear it one more time. The way it always seems to pound a little bit faster than anything or anyone around him, almost always betraying his every thought. Honest, even when the words leaving his lips aren’t.

If he really concentrates, digs deep into his mind, he can almost hear it over the ache in his head and the drums, so loud now that they nearly overpower all of his senses. But Stiles’ heartbeat is there, in the back of his head, soothing him.

Derek opens his eyes and squints up at the bright, blue sky. They’ve stopped and the leprechauns have released his arms and legs. They’re in a clearing and when he hazards lifting his heavy head off the ground, he finds himself surrounded by what must be at least twenty leprechauns. Half of them are banging on the drums in an ominous rhythm.

But Stiles’ heartbeat is still there, faster and louder than anything else. It’s a comfort. One of the leprechauns, who wears a headgear resembling a crown of thorns and leaves, raises a blade towards the sky with two outstretched hands and Derek has the time to think that this truly is it. He’s too weak to get up, too weak to fight or even attempt to flee. He’s really going to be the wolf eaten by leprechauns.

He closes his eyes and lets out a shuddering breath, searching for that familiar thump thump to accompany him. Only this time, the heartbeat has picked up pace. It’s almost dangerously fast and Derek frowns when another noise breaks through the deafening sound of the drums. It takes him a second to identify them as rapidly approaching footsteps.

He tries to stave off the hope which flares in his chest, but that’s right when Stiles charges into the clearing with a hoarse war cry which Derek can’t wait to tease him about once they get out of this situation.

The leprechauns clearly haven’t expected Stiles, because they scatter in panic around his feet. The drums are dropped and the crowned leprechaun turns just in time to see Stiles raise a sword,  _ and where the fuck did he get that from,  _ over his head and slices it in two.

The crown drops from the leprechaun’s head and everything in the clearing stills. Nineteen pair of beady wide eyes turn to watch Stiles, who’s breathing hard with the sword still held high. He looks as wide-eyed as the rest.

“I’m the king now, leprebitches.”

Derek would roll his eyes if he didn’t think that it would actually finish him off.

What follows is chaos. The leprechauns swarm Stiles and Derek is too weak to do anything about it. All he can do is listen to the cacophony of screams, Stiles’ steady stream of curses and the violent noise of steel meeting flesh. He’s so tired, so incredibly tired, but as long as he hears Stiles’ heartbeat, he feels hope.

“Derek? Derek!”

Derek opens his eyes, which he doesn’t remember closing. Stiles is kneeling by his side, face flushed and chest heaving with exertion. His forehead is sweaty and his deputy uniform is covered in garish green leprechaun blood. There’s a cut across his cheek, but it’s the only injury Derek can see. The clearing is a leprechaun massacre.

“There you are, big guy,” Stiles says, a tremulous smile on his lips and he sags with relief, but his worried hands keep hovering over Derek’s body. “The others are on their way. What did they do to you?”

“My head,” Derek murmurs, lifting a weak arm off the ground to gesture towards it.

Stiles leans forward and cups his cheek, eyes scanning Derek’s head. Blood drains from his face at the sight of it, which probably isn’t a good sign.

“Jesus fucking christ, that’s a big hole.”

Derek lets his head loll into Stiles’ gentle hand. It’s warm against his clammy cheek.

“It wasn’t healing,” he says.

“And it is now?” Stiles sounds doubtful, but Derek can feel it now, can feel the warmth spreading from Stiles’ palm. Soon he’ll feel the heat of the July sun again, soon the pounding in his head will stop.

“Mm.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it. Now, where the fuck are they…?”

Stiles makes a move as if he’s going to get to his feet and look around, but Derek clasps his wrist with energy he doesn’t really have to keep Stiles close.

“Don’t.”

The look Stiles gives him is one he can’t interpret. It’s calculating, wistful and soft all at once. Derek doesn’t know what it means, but at least Stiles has stopped moving.

“Alright,” he agrees and settles fully against Derek’s side. “But they better hurry.”

Stiles is a bundle of nerves, of anxiety and worry, his gaze flickering through the trees. Derek finds himself soothing his thumb over the pulsepoint in his wrist.

“Who gave you a sword anyway?” Derek asks.

The corner of Stiles’ mouth twitches.

“Craigslist.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The _mild gore_ tag refers to a head injury Derek suffers and the mass slaughter of a gaggle of evil leprechauns with a sword bought off of Craigslist.


	3. Fall

They’ve been working in the garden all day, outside in the crisp October air. The sun has been bathing them in light from a clear blue sky, which made the chilly breeze almost unnoticeable, but brought a blooming red shade to Stiles’ cheeks and the tip of his nose. He should’ve worn a jacket, or at least the woollen hat Lydia had gotten him for Christmas last year. Derek thinks it’s cute on him, the way his hair sticks out beneath it, but he’s never told him as much. 

Leaf piles, evidence of the day’s work, are scattered neatly across the lawn. Stiles asked him more than once if Derek didn’t want to change into his other skin and play among the yellows and browns. He only cackled when Derek growled in retaliation.

By the time the sun starts to set, Stiles is ready to call it quits and Derek isn’t very far behind.

“Come oooon!” Stiles moans pathetically while attempting to drag Derek by the arm up the stairs of the back porch. “You promised me a hot beverage if I helped you out and I have received exactly ZERO hot beverages!”

Derek could stand firm a little while longer, just to tease him, but can’t help giving in to Stiles’ attempt of puppy eyes. It’s not even that cute.

“Alright, alright, stop whining.”

They make their way inside and toe off their dirty shoes by the backdoor as to not muddy up the floors. The kitchen is just around the corner, the windows opening up towards the garden. Stiles, after having washed his hands in the kitchen sink, hop up onto the counter and looks at Derek with poorly hidden excitement.

It’s a good look on him. Derek ducks his head into the pantry, worried that his affection might be written across his face.

“What are you going to make?” Stiles asks.

“I distinctly remember someone demanding pumpkin spice lattes, or he wouldn’t have showed up,” Derek replies and levels Stiles with an unimpressed stare once he’s gathered the spices (and his stupid emotions) from the cupboard.

Stiles crows victoriously and proceeds to fill the kitchen with chatter while Derek prepares their drinks. He speaks of his last shift at the station, of the grimoire he recently got his hands on, of a YouTube video on how to best sharpen your sword and the ugly-enough-to-be-cute, three-legged pug he had seen when he visited Scott at the vet clinic the other day. The words wash soothingly over Derek and he hums and awes at all of the appropriate times, successfully keeping Stiles going up until the point where he hands Stiles is mug. It’s Stiles’ favorite mug, the one with Yoda on it.

Stiles’ fingers brush across Derek’s when taking the mug.

“Thanks, Derek,” he says, giving him a grateful smile.

“You’re welcome,” Derek replies and takes a sip from his own mug.

Not for the first time, he thinks about kissing Stiles. Not for the first time, he doesn’t. Instead he lets Stiles pick up wherever he left off, he hums and awes at all the right times, and wonders what his life would be like if he dared to ask for the things he wanted.


	4. Winter

They decide to celebrate Christmas at Derek’s house, as per Stiles’ suggestion. It makes the most sense, he had argued, considering the size of the pack and the fact that Derek’s house is far bigger than anyone else’s. Derek plays hard to get, but only for a minute or so, considering that he can’t deny the warm feeling in his chest when just thinking about the house being filled with people, food and laughter. 

There’s little less than a week until Christmas Day when Derek hears the telltale noise of the Jeep’s engine coming up the driveway. Derek hasn’t done much in terms of decoration, but he’s put a wreath up on the door at least. He should’ve known that wouldn’t be enough for Stiles.

Derek puts the book he had been reading away just as Stiles stomps up the porch steps, and gets to his feet when there’s banging on the door.

_ “Come out, loser, we’re going Christmas tree chopping!” _

Derek rolls his eyes just before opening the door. Stiles is practically bouncing with excitement, his woollen hat pushed down on his head and the biggest grin on his face.

“What?” Derek says, leaning against the door frame.

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t hear me, asshole,” Stiles replies and gives him a light shove. “You and I are going to traipse out in the forest and get ourselves a Christmas tree. I have an _ axe _ . I am  _ ready. _ ”

“Who keeps giving you weapons?” Derek questions with a concerned frown, but he still reaches out to get his jacket. He shrugs it on on his way out the door.

“Excuse  _ you,  _ I’m an honorable officer of the law, I think I can handle an axe.”

They bicker on their way into the woods, until they’re swallowed by the stillness of the trees and Stiles becomes hyper-focused on eyeing every evergreen they come across from top to bottom. He informs Derek that he has measured the assigned Christmas tree space in the living room  _ exactly,  _ of how ‘thicc’ he wants the tree to be and which shade of green which would best compliment Derek’s eyes. Derek’s not sure how that’s relevant, but is weirdly flattered.

Over an hour passes before Stiles finds  _ the one.  _ It’s a tree they’ve walked past at least three times now, which Derek points out, but Stiles simply shushes him.

“No, this is the one,” Stiles assures him. “Can’t you see that it’s a sign that we keep coming back to it? Like, sure, some of the others might seem more shiny or prettier from afar, but this has character. It has  _ soul.” _

“It’s a tree, Stiles.”

“Don’t listen to him, baby,” Stiles coos at the tree after giving Derek the stink-eye. “You’re beautiful.”

They chop the tree down. ‘They’ here means that Stiles took one swing with the axe, feigned a strain in his shoulder and promptly handed it over to Derek. Derek of course then has to carry the damn tree all the way back to the house. He would be annoyed, but Stiles’ excited grin makes all the frustration melt away.

By the time they’re back home and Derek has propped the tree up against the wall while working up the nerve to ask Stiles inside for hot cocoa, Stiles’ phone chirps.

“Oh, I’ve got to go,” Stiles says, face twisting in an apologetic grimace. “I promised Scott we’d take care of some last minute gifts today and he just got off work.”

“That’s fine,” Derek replies neutrally.

“I’ll be back tomorrow with ornaments so we can decorate it!” Stiles promises, nudging Derek’s shoulder to lure his lips into a smile.

“Okay.”

“Okay, I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow!”

And then, just like that, Stiles leans in to kiss him. It’s just a peck given in all haste, short and sweet and barely there, but it has Derek frozen in place. Stiles makes it approximately ten steps towards the Jeep before he too comes to a halt. Slowly, slowly, he turns around to face Derek again.

“Uuuuhm. Quick q?” He says, a thoughtful finger raised into the air.

“Yes?” Derek manages to choke out.

“Did I just kiss you?”

Derek swallows, and nods.

“Yes.”

“Right,” Stiles replies and licks his lips. Can he taste Derek on him? Can he feel his lips tingling, like Derek’s do? “Soooo, how do we feel about that?”

“Not… not sure.”

“Oookay.”

Stiles looks crestfallen. Derek thinks of unmistakable heartbeats. He thinks of healing touches, vivid green blood and swords bought off of Craigslist. He thinks of daring to ask for what he wants.

“Maybe you should try again?” Derek finds himself saying, cracking his chest open for Stiles’ to see.

Stiles smiles.


End file.
